Dem Bones
by The Inkline
Summary: When circumstance separates you from the one you love the most, to what lengths are you willing to go to save them? A fall from grace, rediscovering hygeine and a trip to the bowels of hell, oh my. [Hakucentric]
1. Chapter 1

Dem Bones.

Dying, whether we like it or not, is a natural part of life. Human life. Living means to die, slowly, over a period of days and weeks and months and years. The sand is always falling in the hourglass, counting down to that time, whether it be in a far future in the warmth of our beds, or swiftly, soon, in a spray of blood and all the other little bits and pieces that make us whole.

But there exists a hope for us, the solid belief that after our corporeal forms have failed us, there exists an After. Someplace we go once our hearts have stopped beating, to exist forever and ever.

It's hard to contemplate such a thing, considering all the religious issues that get entangled with such an abstract thought as 'after.' Is there a God? Is there a heaven, a hell? Are my actions in life reflected once I've died, or do I simply cease to exist?

It was something he had an eternity to contemplate. To consider his own hovering existence, his soul to give it a word, floating there in blank space and just… existing.

It sounded drab, but it wasn't so bad. He supposed this was just a part of the great machine of heaven—you could envision your own paradise, and the machine made it work to Paradise's standards. An endless expanse of soft cloud footing, painted with yellows and pastels of an eternal sunrise, the air delightfully warm with a hint of a breeze. It was perfect, absolutely perfect. Where he sat (for lack of a better term, as he really had no ass to sit upon,) he could see for miles, and all the vague blue forms that made up the other souls inhabiting this section of heaven. Some were milling about, preferring to wander the endless expanse of cloud and visit the other souls that were currently stationary.

Typically, the souls would remain in clusters for the most part, though those clusters often changed to include new memories of faces and new echoes of voices. People here tended to retain their social instincts, the impression of the basic human need to be near one another.

He was one of few who kept away. He couldn't quite remember, or reason why. It was a side effect, however frustrating it could be. Here, memories were carefully infected and erased, depending on the quality of that memory. One couldn't be perpetually happy if you were able to remember all the terrible things of your mortal life, after all.

He could barely remember anything by now, an approximated four years later. Though, that was a guess, since there was no way of knowing the time differences in eternity as compared to the mortal realm. As far as he knew, for sure, he had only been dead for two seconds. Either way, two seconds or four years, he had already forgotten most of his life. There were a few scraps of memory remaining, certainly, clear as day and enhanced for the sake of magnifying the pleasure of those memories.

Most of them were around the same age range, involving some silly triviality that was made to seem like the happiest moment in the entire world. He thought that it must be pitiful, if he was only allowed to remember this much.

His life must have sucked. Hardcore.

Still, amidst the vibrant displays of himself sledding down a snowy hill or hugging the warm body of a rabbit close, there was something that seemed to be missing. A vague idea, like a faded photograph that he couldn't quite bring into focus, but still knew existed.

The very fact that the Machina allowed him to remember it at all meant that it couldn't have all been unpleasant. Whatever he was forgetting was something important, far beyond some silly sled ride and a bunny. But what was it?

He had been struggling to answer that very same question ever since he found that shadow of a thought in the recesses of his mind. He knew, somewhere deep inside, that whatever it was, he had loved it. Well and truly loved.

_But you can't have, _said the Machina, a hissing whisper in his head, _you can't have loved it if you've forgotten… just let it go… it's not worth the trouble…_

For a moment, he was tempted to do just that. The Machina had filled him with a warm sense of contentment, his thoughts momentarily turning to cotton as that whisper touched him, coaxing him away from the pursuit of that memory.

Only through intense effort was he able to pull himself out of that daze, giving a little gasp as clarity took him again. No, no, he mustn't forget. It was important, vastly important that he remember, remember NOW. He knew his attempts would draw attention, and from his perch on the hilltop of cloud, he could see a bright blue blur making its way towards him, albeit slowly. Another soul to soothe him, to take his mind off of what was interfering with the workings of paradise, no doubt.

He frowned, heavily, straining even harder to remember as that other soul got closer and closer, a second one not far behind him. He could almost feel himself tearing away from the Machina, like the stitching slowly pulled from two pieces of cloth. The photograph was clearing up, shapes were taking form, a hazy outline drawn out as the very center began to come into focus.

A person…?

"Now, what's all the fuss here?" he almost growled in frustration as he was pulled from his task, concentration broken by the hazy blue form in front of him. He stared at the face, lined with age, the lines even more numerous because of the smile the old man was wearing. Immediately, his mind supplied him with a name, as well as any neutral information that could be shared.

"Sandaime Hokage." He murmured in a show of respect, however fleeting that was. The old man smiled ever more.

"The other name, I want you to use it. That's a title, it has no place here. As it were, you didn't answer my question."

"It's not something I can readily explain," he said back, though the old man must have picked up on his tone.

"Or want to. I understand. But there is a problem…" the man's words faded slightly, following the younger's eyes out across the hill, to where the other soul was approaching. He gave another smile, arm raised in a hailing sort of wave. The soul sped up a bit, slowing only when it was mere feet away, standing apart from them.

He had died young, unlike the Hokage before him, face void of lines, pale and smooth. There was something else, though, that set him apart from the old man sitting, something that couldn't be placed into words. The green eyes, lined with red, held nothing of the insipid happiness that one often found in the eyes of others.

As those green eyes met his own, he couldn't help but let out something of a sigh. Somehow, that feeling felt kindred, that tinge of sadness and want hidden underneath a neutral expression.

"He doesn't want to forget, Sarutobi." The voice that accompanied emerald was slow, precise in what he said, holding perhaps a thousand different meanings behind the words. Every single one of those meanings struck a chord in him, resonating and making the desire to REMEMBER even stronger.

"It's not a matter of what he wants, unfortunately… The Machina won't allow it. The memories are too grey." The old man, Sarutobi, gave an apologetic smile at the soul in question. "I'm sorry. I can't remember too much either, but it's necessary… to remember the pain of living is to denounce this place. And who knows what would happen to you then?"

He just continued to stare up into those green eyes, never giving a sign that he heard the former Hokage speak. Something struck him then, a vague image from when he was very young, that same time period where he was allowed to remember.

"I know you… I remember, when we were small…"

"Unfortunately, I don't. Not very well, anyway. My childhood was obliterated." The white-haired young man broke the stare, eyes flicking over to the former Hokage, head tilted. "It isn't our choice, Sarutobi."

"I know it isn't, but how could he possibly know the consequences? Who's to say he isn't better off just forgetting?"

The young man didn't speak for a moment, and the silence gave him the chance to continue to think. Was it really that bad, that he remember? Was it really so bad that he forget?

Who was it that meant so much to him? What was it that made the Machina want him to forget?

He saw the old man whirl to face him out of the corner of his eye, but he paid him no mind. At that moment, his entire consciousness was focused on that photograph in his mind, which was now blindingly clear as if branded on his very eyeballs. He felt a jolting pain at the center of his being, a tug at his core, wrenching and pulling as if to punish him. And as he curled up upon himself and screamed, he knew he deserved to be punished.

He could see nothing but that memory, that clear and frozen image in his mind, could see nothing but a broad, tanned chest littered with little scars and old bruises. He couldn't feel anything but the hardness of another body pressed against his side, warmth radiating from that form into his own as a strong arm forgot its pride and came over his shoulders to pull him closer.

He knew Sarutobi was yelling his name, but all he could hear was that low gravelly voice doing the same, and all he wanted to do was scream and cry and tear himself apart. Finally, strong hands gripped his shoulders and shook him, and the memory was scattered in favour of Sarutobi's face, the man looking desperately down at him, pleading.

"Stop, before it's too late! Please! There's nothing you can do for him, Haku!"

Immediately, the pain vanished, though it was not overtaken by blissful, stupid warmth. Instead, all he felt was cold, a calm, cold fury that anyone, anyone _dared_ to tell him such a thing. He felt that fury rising, though he forced himself to keep calm as the last seams holding him in place came apart.

He gave a glance at the younger man, met those green eyes one final time, and found a smile there instead of that aching sadness. Kimimaru nodded once, and Haku turned to face Sarutobi once more.

"I can do nothing?"

Sarutobi sighed as if relieved, apparently taking the words to mean he would stop.

"Nothing, Haku… there's nothing you can do for him, where he is—" his last words were cut off, though, as the soul in his arms gave a barking laugh and pushed him away. The boy leaned back then, as the clouds opened up into oblivion, and let himself fall through. The last thing the two watching souls heard from the boy, before the clouds closed up again, was--

"Watch me."

Kimimaru and Sarutobi stood in stunned silence for what seemed like an hour. The old man closed up on himself then, hand raised to hide his eyes, as if he were a mourner standing before a grave.

Kimimaru stirred then, though his eyes were fixed on the space where the other boy disappeared, a smile still on his face.

"We don't have to abandon him, you know."

"What can we do? You know as well as I that he can't come back. And considering the state of his spirit, there's no way Hell will allow him. He'll be stuck on the mortal plane, doomed to wander it until his soul destroys itself."

"…His goal is hell, to be certain…" Kimimaru was speaking carefully now, deliberately, never saying his idea outright, waiting for it to click in the elder man's mind. "And what is hell but the manifestation of the sins of the body?"

The elder frowned at him, the former Hokage staring at his younger companion as he contemplated those words, hazel eyes soon widening in understanding.

"But how? His own will have been obliterated by time, if not the hunter-nin."

"What is a body, but water, earth and bones…?" Kimimaru was smiling even wider now, green orbs showing some of the life that had left him long before he had died.

"Water, earth and bones." Sarutobi repeated, and smiled.

Haku was still plummeting, and he had time enough to marvel the sheer distance between the Machina and the mortal realm. He was wondering when he would ever stop when things suddenly came into focus, stars and dust swirling around him as he continued to plummet, falling past planets and meteors and even the cold surface of the moon before he saw it through a haze of fire, the flames opening up into the vast blue of a sky, green stretched out below him.

As the ground rose up to meet him, he wondered, vaguely, if this would hurt. He never had time to prepare himself, even as he felt himself becoming somehow heavier, looking down at himself to find, much to his dismay, that he was completely solid.

"Oh, fuck me..." he managed to whisper before he went crashing through the roof of what appeared to be a very old shack in the middle of a neglected farm. The entire structure cried out in protest as he hit the dirt floor below, slamming into it with enough force to send any furniture inside scattering.

When he next woke, sunlight was pouring down at him from a hole in the roof, the position of the great yellow star telling him it must be past noon by now. He shifted, tensing in preparation of the agony of broken bones, only to find he felt nothing of the sort. He sat up then, looking down at his dust-covered limbs to find that no damage had been done by the fall at all. Rather than complain, he decided to just accept that fact and got to his feet, pushing bits of wood off of himself and making a sad attempt to rid himself of some of the dust and grime. He managed to get most of the mess off of his naked form before he realized he was just that, grimacing at this newfound annoyance.

Looking around at the destruction that he caused, he was struck with the idea that finding anything here would be next to impossible, only to see a fragment of something jutting out from where the remains of a dresser once was. He grabbed and pulled an old shirt from the mess, crying out his luck at the length of the thing. Even if there were no other clothes, it would be long enough to cover all the necessary parts until he could obtain something more… appropriate.

Tugging the shirt over his head, he continued to dig, if only in the vague hope that he would find some pants or anything else that may be useful. He didn't find the former, certainly, but he was just as happy with a length of rope and some old sandals, tying the rope around his waist to turn the shirt into a makeshift dress, the sandals pulled onto his feet soon afterwards.

A sack and another length of rope made a decent pack, which he slung over his shoulder as he made his way out of the ruined shack and out into the sunlight proper.

It certainly was amazing to see things through solid eyes once more, after having been robbed of the experience. One never appreciated anything until it was long gone, something that Haku knew only too well. He raised his arm as if to touch the sun, before he realized how silly that would be and let the limb drop once more. He began making his way away from the abandoned farm, finding a road and taking it to where, he didn't know.

Now that he was here, it was hard to figure out the next step. He knew where he came from and he knew where he needed to go, it was the "how" that had him stuck.

Well, he supposed, the first thing that was in order was a bath. He grimaced a bit, attempting to brush off even more dirt without any success at all. But a bath would require either a stream or a village, and neither seemed to be in sight.

As it were, it was two more days before he even caught the slightest hint of another person. The afternoon was incredibly hot, and he was lucky enough to finally find running water, pulling his makeshift clothes off and washing them, setting them against a rock to dry as he went to take care of himself. He was just scrubbing sand into his hair when he heard footsteps on the path running along the river, and he sank further into the water to avoid being seen.

What he saw, or rather, who he saw, made him jerk upright again, staring at the rather battered figure that was bending at the river's edge for a drink.

Dark eyes stared right back into his; the man's rough face transformed by surprise, mouth hanging open as his hands slowly lost their hold on the water cupped there. He stood then, rising as if that would help him see the boy in the water with a little more clarity, though he still wore an expression of shock.

"Well, I'll be damned."

"Wouldn't doubt it, Gozu."


	2. I Got Better

-Disclaimer: The second I own Naruto, is the second it becomes something even 4Kids couldn't handle. That will be your punishment in hell. Have a nice day.

Note: This work of fiction is now a collaboration with the AFF author/GODDESS Kirishtu.

If you want some more excellent stories, head on over to the place where you need to confirm you're 18. Hoorah.

Dem Bones

Gozu had seen a ton of shit in his miserable life. He and Meizu had gotten tangled up with a madman and for a while life had been good. Dangerous as hell, but good. Then they made, quite possibly, the biggest mistake of their lives and tangled with Sharingan no Kakashi and somehow survived with minimal injuries.

Of course, they were both so afraid they didn't try to leave the area for days.

They had heard of Zabuza's demise. They had stopped by Haku's grave to say their final farewells and cry. They'd miss their little family.

And then part of their little family surfaced out of the river like a Lorelei hell-bent on chewing Gozu's eyes out. Of course, not that Haku would chew Gozu's eyes out, not unless he was pissed off, but the general idea of it was enough to make Gozu walk in silence behind… well, Haku really was no longer a boy. Man, then? Or zombie? Zombie was sounding better considering Haku's visible skin was translucent, like rice paper. Veins and arteries pulsed with something, blood maybe. Gozu didn't want to dwell on it. For all he knew, ice was flowing through Haku's zombie veins.

"Gozu, as hot as I am, I don't think Meizu would appreciate you staring." Haku said dryly. Gozu's eyes sharpened considerably, his gaze narrowing to almost hate. That alone took Haku back a bit.

"Right now," Gozu quietly snarled, "Meizu… just don't."

Haku blinked before his lips curled into a wicked smile. Gozu, though, didn't elaborate or back down, so Haku decided to press his luck. It wasn't like Gozu could do anything to him.

"What's wrong, Gozu? Afraid Meizu's gonna up and leave you for another man?"

Gozu's frown turned into a snarl in a split second. "No, not for another man."

"A woman then?" Haku asked snidely.

"A rough, inescapable mistress we all have to answer to." Gozu looked at Haku and snorted. "Except you, I suppose."

Haku glowered at the older man as they walked now in dead silence. Gozu's body was tense, horribly so. Haku was almost afraid he would snap something vital and then Gozu wouldn't be moving very far.

"We all?" Haku pressed, enjoying the way Gozu glared at him.

"Humanity." Gozu looked away from Haku and to the path before them, the two splitting apart to walk around a caravan of traders, shovels and spades clinking dully against sheathed swords as the men walked. Back side-by-side, Haku was frowning. Gozu was leaving the worn path now so Haku followed, determined to figure out why the elder was so angry. It all clicked in his head when he saw the makeshift camp and Meizu lying under a moth-eaten blanket, head pillowed on a pack and his face flushed with fever.

"What happened?" Haku asked, nose wrinkling from the scent of decay and sickness. He looked to Gozu, certain the other man smelled the putridness of his brother. The man's face indicated nothing of the scent, not even when he got closer to kneel beside Meizu, helping him sit up and drink from the flask of river water. Meizu choked; the violent coughing that followed made Haku wince, because the scent of disease only grew stronger at that time of weakness.

"Just a mission." Gozu said huskily, drawing dark eyes to him. "It was an easy mission, supposed to be."

Fighting back nausea, Haku knelt beside the Onikyoudai and lifted up the blanket shielding Meizu. Haku's lips curled into a snarl, eyes centering on Meizu's arm, bandaged with clean – and bloody crimson – linen. Now it made sense, what Gozu said, why he was so angry. He was losing Meizu.

Losing him to Death.

"What happened" Haku asked as he took hold of Meizu's arm, feeling something akin to disgust when he began to remove the bandaging. Gozu swallowed.

"We fucked up," he said hoarsely, fighting down tears. "We were just supposed to steal some shit, and we got ambushed. They did that to him. It hasn't healed and he won't get better. It's… it's like it's my fault. Like it's mocking me."

Haku studied the wound, wincing at how angry it was. The cut began at Meizu's bicep and traveled down to the underside of his forearm. Two inches up and a little to the right and the vein in his wrist would have been severed. The edges oozed milky white pus, the body's own way of fighting infection, and the flesh around the mouth of the wound was angry red, painful if touched. Which was probably why Gozu had wrapped the bandages so loosely, why the infection wasn't properly pushed out of the wound to give it a better chance to heal.

Haku looked up at the elder Onikyoudai and met his gaze. Gozu looked so young, so young and lost, even though four years had passed since Haku's departure from the living. The memories the Machina hadn't quite erased bubbled up, a flash of the brothers and Haku as a fourteen-year-old boy and a tall shadow, and one in particular of importance, as though showing Haku exactly what to do.

The memory was simple, painful and blurry around the edges. He had gotten cut, Haku remembered. His ankle had become the same angry red as Meizu's arm, but he hadn't said a word. The tall shadow had found out and he had been so angry. Angry because they had been traveling hard and Haku had been hurt. So he had taught Haku how to clean and dress the wound properly. He couldn't see the man's face, but he knew him, knew that this man was what he was searching for.

"Gozu," Haku said evenly. "I'll take care of the wound this time, but you have to pay attention to what I do to save Meizu, okay?"

Gozu swallowed and nodded. "Yeah, right."

"Swear it."

The elder Onikyoudai winced. "I swear. I swear upon my life and on your and Zabuza's graves."

Haku's heart fluttered at that name. Zabuza. Suddenly, the nameless, faceless shadow in his memories became more substantial and Haku's lips curled into a smile. He was aware of Gozu's wince.

"Hold him," Haku ordered, taking hold of Meizu's injured arm as Gozu took hold of his brother to hold him as comfortably as he could. Meizu still whimpered. Haku sighed quietly in relief.

"This is going to hurt."

Haku pushed on the edges of the wound. Blood and pus very nearly fountained from the wound, splattering Haku's hands. He kept his lips a thin line, holding his head high even as blood and fluids slid down his neck. Meizu was screaming, Gozu was cursing, and Haku kept pushing until he had gotten down to the wrist. A few moments of quiet peace to properly clean the wound, to wash away blood and infection, and then Haku was pushing again, forcing out the remains of milky infection. The dark-haired young man continued his ministrations until all he pushed out was blood. One more time to make sure as he murmured apologies to Meizu and then he sat back, finished. He let Gozu comfort his brother as he washed his hands and neck with the flasks of river water to get rid of the crimson stains and other traces of other fluids. When his hands were finally clean, Haku dug through Gozu's pack to find a roll of clean linen bandages. With Gozu's eyes on him, Haku tenderly wrapped Meizu's arm, tight enough to keep infection at bay again but loose enough not to cause the younger Onikyoudai much pain.

"There." Haku said after a moment of silence from all there. "Just do that every night you stop to camp and wrap it in fresh bandages. It'll heal and leave only a scar."

"Great." Gozu whispered, stroking his little brother's forehead. He looked up at Haku, to look him in the eye and express his gratitude, and his breath caught in his throat. Haku looked back at him and raised an eyebrow.

"What?" Haku asked, baring his teeth in a grin. "I got blood on my face still?"

"More like blood in your face," Gozu replied almost sardonically. When Haku blinked at him, Gozu bit the inside of his cheek and sighed.

"You looked like a zombie before. You know, see through skin and visible veins? It's like, you're alive again."

"I was alive when you met me," Haku said. But he had seen his reflection in the river, so he knew Gozu wasn't lying or fooling around with him. He did feel warmer, comfortable in his body. He looked at the older of the Onikyoudai and shrugged.

"I guess I just got better."

"You weren't sick, dumbass." Gozu said dryly. "You were dead."

"Like I said, I just got better."

"Uh-huh."

They shared silence, broken only by Meizu's breathing and his whimpers when he was moved, settled to lay back down and sleep. Gozu rose and moved over to Haku, placing a hand on his shoulder. Haku almost tensed, but the gesture was a familiar one. Still, he swore that if Gozu pulled him into a headlock and gave him an atomic noogie, he'd gut the bastard. Gozu didn't do anything of the sort, just leaving his hand on Haku's shoulder and staring thoughtfully into the distance. Haku shifted.

"Huh?" Haku asked, realizing he'd missed Gozu's words. The elder man rolled his eyes and gently cuffed the side of Haku's head.

"I said I have something for you. We'll get it tomorrow. Meizu should be able to walk that far." Gozu mused and Haku realized the elder Onikyoudai was no longer speaking to him. Haku just nodded anyway and as night fell, he helped Gozu make a fire and cook dinner. Gozu told him of events that had happened in the past four years, just what he knew, but enough that Haku could conclude events and fill in blanks by himself.

He supposed he felt sorry for the Sandaime, dying in such a brutal way at the hands of a pervert, but he was in Heaven now.

Apparently, dying at the hands of a pervert sent you to Heaven.

Haku snickered.

As the fire burned down to embers and Haku lay on a borrowed blanket, staring up at the stars, he thought about the memories of his childhood, the ones washed out and blurred by the Machina. Many were almost clear, except for the tall shadowed man that was a bittersweet mix of cruel and kind. A frozen soul that had been alone too long only to be warmed by innocent eyes. Not that Haku was innocent anymore.

"Zabuza."

Whispered, lovingly, a caress. Haku rolled to his side to quietly cry tears he hadn't been able to shed, mourning for his lost mentor, his lost beloved. When the moment of weakness passed Haku rubbed his eyes and inhaled sharply. He would get Zabuza back. This time, he would be the one to do the rescuing, to save, again, what was most precious to him and this time live to enjoy it.

He was shaken awake by Gozu and grumbled threats at the elder Onikyoudai until he received the wonderful offerings of a bland breakfast, smiling at Meizu when he turned a dazed gaze onto the dark-haired young man. The jerks wasn't half as satisfying as Gozu's reaction had been, but Meizu had been sick – and still was, if his flushed face as any indication. Still, after a while of hanging around the campsite, erasing all traces of their presence, Meizu claimed he felt well enough to walk.

With his arm in a sling fashioned by Haku from his discovered clothing – and Haku wearing Gozu's black pants and Meizu's old shirt – the Onikyoudai led Haku through the woods toward a clearing beneath the shade of very old trees. Haku felt his stomach tighten, every fiber of his being fighting taking even one more step toward those graves. He snarled at himself and pushed on against the nausea and pain to stand before two graves, one with recently disturbed earth and the other already beginning to grow grass, except for a hole where something large and sharp had been set, a grave-marker for a warrior. Haku fought not to grind his teeth as memories refused his command.

Eventually, he gave up chasing them and turned his attention onto the Onikyoudai, Gozu in particular. He was kneeling close to the smaller of the two graves, digging into hard earth, shifting aside clods and grass roots, giving a soft breath as he closed his fingers around something.

He pulled, freeing one metal casing from the earth. Upon brushing the shining metal free of earth, Haku recognized it as Meizu's claw. Gozu rose then and turned to Haku as he kicked dirt over the hole.

"Here," Gozu said, offering the arm. "Take it. You'll probably need it more than we will."

"But, this is yours." Haku protested softly. Gozu shook his head and again offered out the metal claw.

"Freely offered, Haku." Gozu said, getting an assenting noise from Meizu. "We're not in the ninja business anymore. We decided to bury this shit here because it was close to you guys. It was like," Gozu paused, searching for words.

"It was like we were together again," Meizu supplied. "All of us, our twisted little family, you know?"

Haku reached out to touch the earth tarnished metal, fingers curling around it and pulling it away from Gozu. It sang to him, that shaft of hollow metal, a chorus of voices that told him so many things. He snapped the guard into place and felt the weight settle easily. A murmured thanks, and Haku turned away, walking away from the two older men who had been his playmates for a very short amount of time.

"Haku!" Meizu cried out after him, "Where are you going?"

Haku shifted, turned to look back at his friends and gave them an icy smile. "I'm going to get back what's mine."


	3. She Tied You to the Kitchen Chair

-Disclaimer is the same as chapter two.

Dem Bones

Mourning provides a way for the living to let go of the dead. Death provides a way for the dead to let go of the living. This is why the dead stay amongst the dead because they no longer have that special bond, that special connection to the living, and the living move on because they no longer have any reason to mourn the dead. Oh, the dead will always be remembered by the living, whether in a memory or in a shrine kept in the family house, and the dead will always remember the living, though the memories become faded as they age and reach the time their souls must be reborn. He had mourned twice in his lifetime. Once when his beautiful, beloved sensei committed seppuku to take his transgressions onto her untainted soul to save him, and once when his beloved partner sacrificed his life for him. He had cried both times, unashamedly, mourning in his own way as he made preparations to avenge both lives lost. The first time, he'd promised himself he would become the strongest he could and take out those who had driven him to commit his sin and driven his sensei to kill herself. The second time, he couldn't stand to live alone anymore, not when his heart was lying cold on the bridge, no longer able to breathe or to smile or to do anything. The second time, he resolved to run to his death, to avenge his beloved and to die. He already knew he wouldn't be able to follow the same path his beloved would take, but he gave his last breath to make sure he, at least, wouldn't be alone in hell.

He'd accepted his place in hell, in the frozen wasteland, sitting there within the ice and waiting for his punishment to continue. He'd accepted the fact the only time he would see his beloved would be in his memories, in his dreams, when he finally fell asleep. Still, he'd been very careful about falling asleep, as here in this place one could be torn apart at any given moment, or contorted even more into the strange shapes as the older ones were. He could see that their bodies were twisted into helixes or whorls or balls or twisted completely around. His body had begun the same transformation after so long confined in the ice, his form slowly beginning to contort in his ice prison. He wondered what shape he would take, if he would become a helix or a whorl or twisted backwards.

He'd accepted it. He'd made peace. He was at peace with his memories, encased in that ice. And then, his rest was disturbed. He hadn't known what it was, at first. An annoying little buzzing, like a fly that wouldn't leave your ear alone. It was insistent, horrible, and he just wanted it to stop. But it didn't, it kept buzzing and buzzing until all he could do to drown out the sound was scream. But even that didn't help, because in his prison he could hear nothing but that buzzing. He just wanted it to stop, to stop and leave him alone to his punishment and to his death and why wouldn't it stop? He tried to shift, tried to find the location of the buzzing and when he couldn't he growled in frustration. He felt wrenching pain moments after the buzzing finally, thankfully, stopped. It wasn't the normal, gradual pain of being contorted, but a sharp horrible pain that constricted every fiber of his being. He hated it, hated that pain, hated not knowing what was causing that pain.

As if someone was taking pity on him, the knowledge bubbled up in his brain, in the image of a beautiful little boy with wide, dark, innocent eyes. Of that same boy before him, a living shield. Of seeing that beautiful face one last time before he succumbed to darkness.

His lips curled into a snarl, hot anger rising from his very core. It was almost hot enough to melt the ice around his body, he thought, and he hated being locked away. Locked away while the grave of his beautiful, beloved partner was torn apart. He could feel it, feel the dirty, unworthy hands touching, fondling, tainting. He felt a roar bubbling up in his throat and let it out, though it fell on deaf ears all around. He didn't, couldn't, allow those unworthy ones to desecrate all he held dear. He wouldn't be able to rest otherwise.

But what could he do?

His anger was growing hotter. His hatred was what allowed him to move. It was just an inch, but he had moved. Again, another inch, and then the ice around him was cracking, melting, his skin glistening with frigid water as he moved. His contorted body snapped back to rights, rotating joints and cracking his neck. His eyes smoldered with hatred as he moved over the frozen bodies of his comrades and moving to where the beast stood. The wind didn't bother him, not at all, moving across ice and bodies toward where he could climb out. In the end, he didn't need to climb at all, his body buffeted by the rough winds and lifted into the blackened sky until he could see the light of day. He felt heavy, shivered at the coldness, the wetness of what surrounded him, and clawed his way out of the dirt, screaming in denial as the fear of being smothered came to be a very real threat to him. When the wind brushed over his face he knew he was free. Dirt shifted aside and he climbed out of the grave, shaking. It was to be expected, the weakness, but soon enough the weakness was gone. Shreds of clothes still hung from his frame, but it didn't matter, no. Not when he didn't need to stay alive for too much longer, not after he retrieved what was his.  
He limped, until the bone in his leg shifted back into place and then he could run. The scent was faint, but he could follow it. He always could, even when the boy had gotten lost and it took hours to find him again. He walked during the night, ran during the day, and the scent got stronger. The stronger it got, the closer he was, and one night he saw orange licking the dark in a lover's caress and knew he had found what he was searching for. He approached the camp, slowly, a shadow blending in with the sounds and sights and smells of the night, slipping past the guards toward where the scent was strongest. The scent came from a tent in the middle of the group, a large, ostentatious thing. His lips curled in a snarl but he couldn't deny what he wanted was within. He moved, slipping beneath the tarp, pausing to gauge his enemy. He shifted, lightly stepping over blankets and pillows, moving across the tent floor toward his quarry.

A black cloth bag slept on a large pillow, the cloth molding to the contents within. He shivered in pleasure at the feeling that bag brought him, moving closer and reaching out to touch the bag. Fingers closed over velvet and he pulled the bag to his chest, cradling it as he would an infant, as he did his beloved little partner when he gave into temptation and forgot his pride and held the boy close to his body to remind himself he wasn't dreaming. His heart was pounding, pleasure coursing through his blood, and he opened the bag, gazing wide-eyed at the sight of bleached white. He slowly reached in, fingers curling around the pale whiteness. A jolt went through his body and he purred, memories dredged up by love alone. He closed his eyes, savouring those memories, those feelings that they wrought in him, petting, stroking the bones within the bag.

"Haku…" he whispered to nothing, to the night, to the bones.

He closed the bag, holding it tight and close to his body as he made to escape. He left the tent and made to leave the campsite, made to head back to where his heart led him to intern the bones back to their proper place so he could rest again.

Lights exploded behind his eyes and he fell forward. He bent, tumbled, protecting the bones with his very body. He needed to, to protect the bones of what he couldn't protect in the first place. He came to his feet surrounded. The weapons he didn't care about; even if he could bleed, the pain would be a sweet caress to what he had felt before these bastards desecrated the grave of the one he held most dear. The pain in his head was nothing, he forced it away, and turned to stare at the leader, the man who had emerged from the tent where the bones had been. The look on the man's face was one of surprise, of fear, but when those eyes fell on the object he clutched in his arms. Then that look of fear turned into one of victory.

An order was barked before he could react, the weapons moving forward to force him to dodge. One clipped the bag and he roared in denial, holding the bag higher than the weapons could reach. That proved to be his mistake. Before he could bring his wrist down to defend the bag, an arrow sliced across his wrist, pain blossoming. In reaction, he dropped the velvet bag, eyes wide in abject horror, not at the fact he'd dropped it, but at the fact he'd dropped it into the waiting hands of the bastard who'd stolen the bones in the first place. The man's lips quirked in a cruel smile as he brought the bag to his chest and opened it, reaching in and pulling out a skull, turning it to face him. A shiver coursed up his spine as he watched that grinning, skinless face, eyes wide as he felt his heart constrict.

"Momochi Zabuza," The man whispered. "What a coincidence to find you here."

"The bones are mine." Zabuza whispered, voice rusty. "Return them, and I'll give you your life."

The man laughed, raising the skull higher. "By these bones, Zabuza, you are bound. Aren't you? That's why you're here, to get them back." Zabuza growled. He tried to take a step forward, found he couldn't, and growled louder. Laughter met his attempts, his noises. He reached out for the skull and by a sharp command found himself driven to his knees.

"You're bound to the bones," the man holding the skull laughed. The laughter ceased all to suddenly as his free hand waved, arms grabbing Zabuza's and hauling him to his feet. He tried to jerk away, but pain lanced up his spine and settled in his brain. The man moved forward, took Zabuza's chin in his fingers and tilted his head to stare into the former Demon's eyes. Something glinted there that Zabuza didn't like; he jerked his head to try and bite the fingers holding his head hostage. He missed, was even slapped for the effort, and pain again ran up his spine to settle in his brain.

"You're bound to the bones, Zabuza," the man said again, leaning in closer to the dark haired man. Pain blossomed in Zabuza's diaphragm as the man's fist found a home, driving what breath Zabuza had from him. Darkness danced on the edges of his vision, but he could see the man wave his hand, and those holding him dragged him into the tent, even bound and gagged him. The pressure in his brain lessened, only a bit, but it came back when the skull was revealed again. It was horrible, the pain, and the darkness at the edges began to cover everything, until all he could see was darkness. But he could hear and what he heard hurt everything from his heart to his bones.

"Bound to the bones, and since I hold the bones, you're bound to me."

Zabuza's vision returned, slowly, and he looked up at the skull, then the man. The grin he wore made Zabuza sick, but he couldn't do anything. Not now. Zabuza growled.

"Bound to the bones, I hold the bones, you're bound to me."

Zabuza bowed his head. The gag was removed. He spat into the man's face and earned a slap. He fell to the side, head ringing. A foot connected with his middle, his face, his chin, his neck. Zabuza felt the blows, felt the pain, and when it stopped, his head was jerked up, his eyes meeting the skulls and the man's.

"Bound to the bones, Zabuza. You're bound to the bones, I hold the bones, you're bound to me."

Zabuza's brain felt like it was going to explode. He gasped for breath, writhing, and felt the skull's teeth give him a tender, loving kiss.

The pain blossomed for a horrible moment – it seemed like an eternity – and then drifted away, a sweet nothing, a lover's caress.

His eyes felt heavy, terribly so, and he was only vaguely aware of the master moving to cover him with a warm blanket. The master knelt beside him, brushed stray strands of hair away from his cheeks and leaned down to press a kiss to the same place the skull had. The master moved away then, barking orders before moving to lie in the bed he had vacated earlier. The skull watched and the servant slept, the master grinning as he realized the power he held.

Review?


	4. Orangephobia

-Memory lane, anyone?

Enjoy.

Dem Bones

The ocean breeze was refreshing, nice and cool with the heralding of rain. Haku merely kept walking, unable to do more than that. If he ran, that was okay too, but it took too much effort, and he knew even if he ran or walked Zabuza would still be there waiting for him. So he decided to walk and enjoy the scenery of things that matched up with the few scant memories he had left, building new ones as he went along. This tree was where he first spotted Sharingan no Kakashi and his group of genin. This field was where Zabuza and he fled to after tricking Kakashi and Naruto into believing Zabuza was dead. This was the path that led back to Gato's mansion. This clearing was where he met Naruto for the first time, not as the hunter nin persona but as Haku and Haku alone. He kept walking, stopping only when his body demanded rest and food, and then he ate only until his stomach was satisfied. That method gave him plenty of left-over food that would last him the entire trip, if he was lucky. Even if he wasn't, and the food ran out, he could always pause in a village to steal or work for some. It wasn't like he was completely inept at caring for himself.

That had been one of the first lessons Zabuza had taught him.

If he hadn't of been able to care for himself or had grown up to be some whiny little bitch who couldn't do anything himself without needed help, Zabuza would have left him in Kiri, or out in the woods, alone. Zabuza wasn't a stupid man, especially when he had recognized the potential Haku had slumbering within him, potential that could be honed and trained and used artfully if given the chance. So Zabuza had raised Haku, giving him a trial run, so to speak, and Haku hadn't known that Zabuza was gauging his attitude as much as he was gauging strength. Zabuza hadn't decided to keep him until Haku had proven his worth. If he hadn't, if he'd become that whiny, helpless, little snot that so many others had become, Zabuza would have left him behind. He would have left him behind to die in Kiri, where the only kindness one would receive was a quick death.

So Zabuza had rescued him from the cruel streets of Kiri where he surely would have died, either from exposure or hunger or the uncontained lust of the men who wandered here and there looking for soft, supple flesh to try out and then sell. Zabuza had respected him, even as the little inexperienced brat he'd been. The older man had first taught him what to do with his knee and then began to teach him the more intimate martial arts that ninja performed. He'd worked hard, incredibly hard to make Zabuza proud. And he had, because Zabuza had started to place his hand on his head in an affectionate gesture whenever Haku did something particularly in need of reward. Each touch had been, to Haku, the greatest thing in the entire world. For just one of those simple caresses, Haku would do anything.

When he was ten, he'd tried something he shouldn't have. Haku had grown up fast, emotions hidden away behind a pleasing mask of deceptive cuteness. When he did show his emotions, it was when Zabuza returned injured or he had made Zabuza angry somehow. Zabuza wasn't cruel to him, wasn't mean, but he did have limits and he did set boundaries. Haku had never crossed one of those boundaries before, but then, he had never had the confidence he'd gained with Zabuza's training.

He'd advanced far beyond Zabuza's expectations in combat, both close range and distanced, and he'd completed his lessons in anatomy. He'd even become an expert in throwing and utilizing senbon as both weapons and acupuncture. He'd been tested over and over again until he was proficient enough to hit a nerve cluster nine out of ten times at a distance of fifty feet without being sensed or seen. If he was spotted, he would have to start over, stalking and practicing until he could hit the target ten out of ten times. He was an expert at stealth, at espionage, honing his feminine looks so he could use them as any other weapon he had. He kept himself clean, brushed his hair, and acquired a demeanor that would lower anyone's guard.

Anyone, that is, except for Zabuza.

He couldn't shock Zabuza enough sometimes, and though the man's face twisted into confusion, exasperation, and most often, anger, Haku kept working. He worked hard to perfect his skills in everything he bothered to learn and was made to study by Zabuza. He thought, then, he could trick Zabuza into giving him what he wanted. He shouldn't have even tried. After Haku had drugged Zabuza's tea, because Zabuza never drank alcohol no matter what anyone said, he'd helped Zabuza to bed and then had never left him. He'd gotten to see what Zabuza looked like naked, admiring the lithe, muscular body that was his master. Before he had actually been able to take advantage of Zabuza's unconsciousness, the Demon of the Hidden Mist woke up. He'd been angry. So very angry. Haku had backed off, a smart move, as Zabuza merely snarled and growled and got dressed. And then, Haku made a grave mistake in provoking Zabuza's temper by saying something he shouldn't have. That night was the first night Zabuza had ever beat the shit out of him and left him to take care of his own wounds. That was the way Haku knew he'd crossed a line Zabuza had kept between them, for Haku's own protection.

Haku had seen the way Zabuza's body had reacted to his touch. He'd seen Zabuza's erection and listened to his soft sounds of pleasure. He hadn't even known what an erection was at that time, but he knew what the sounds meant and if Zabuza was having a good time, then he was having a good time. But Zabuza hadn't been having a good time when he realized who it was who was making him react that way and then the ten-year-old's world blossomed into unimaginable pain. Zabuza hadn't cared he'd been beating a child, hadn't cared that Haku cried out for mercy. When he left Haku it was in a storm of anger, his back stiff, erection gone and body covered by his clothes once more, face a mask of blankness. Haku had cried. Cried long and hard and screamed hatred at the elder man as he nursed bruises and cuts. When he had calmed down enough to gauge the wounds like Zabuza had taught him, he found no broken bones or deep lacerations that would take months to heal and leave scars. Once he was bandaged up he had gone in search of Zabuza and had found the man outside, body quivering with what had to be anger.

But it wasn't, no. What Zabuza was shaking with was exhaustion, as he had worked out the rest of his anger by chopping down trees into little pieces with Kubikiri Houcho. If they decided to stay in the area, they would have enough firewood to last them through till next winter.

How he felt like a fool, standing there wrapped in crimson stained linens, staring at the man who was his mentor. Zabuza had given him everything. Zabuza had given him is life, a place to stay, food to eat, clothes to wear. He had given him care and the strength to take care of himself if Zabuza had to go away for a long time. Zabuza had given him respect and his trust and Haku realized he had abused that respect and trust. He had tried to take advantage of Zabuza's momentary weakness and had proved to Zabuza just how vulnerable he was. Something within Haku changed then, something that made him want to protect Zabuza as much as Zabuza protected him. When Zabuza had turned around, saw him there, he froze. Haku remembered seeing Zabuza's eyes so wide, his face so innocent, and he thought for a moment that standing across from him wasn't a twenty-one-year old man, but a young boy, one who terribly needed a friend. Haku had offered his hand then, not as a whimpering little child, but a young man who knew comfort was needed. Zabuza had taken his hand and hugged him and Haku knew he had made the right decision. That night, Zabuza had explained to Haku that he wasn't a pervert, that he wasn't the kind of person who took advantage of little boys. He'd taught Haku to be able to take care of himself in the event they were separated or got lost or Zabuza died so Haku wouldn't have to give in to people like that, that he wouldn't have to give up his own respect for himself to become just the flavour of the night. Haku had promised Zabuza then he wouldn't let him die. Zabuza had laughed and told him everyone dies, that it's part of life, that no one should fear death because it isn't really an end, but a beginning.

Then Zabuza promised Haku when he reached the age of majority, he would give Haku what he wanted. Only if Haku wanted it by then.

When Haku had first turned fifteen, he'd discovered that Zabuza couldn't keep his normal air of indifference when around Haku in close quarters. The boy had quickly discovered then just how he could manipulate his way into Zabuza's bed. Zabuza had been angry when he had found Haku beside him and Haku had been nicely sated if sore. All he had to do then was give the man the innocent eyes and watch Zabuza struggle to stay angry. The few nights on the couch had been worth it. When Zabuza had finally calmed down, Haku was shown just what the Demon of the Hidden Mist could do when given the right incentive. How he had shivered in pleasure as Zabuza did nothing more than speak to him, aching for attention and slowly receiving it inch by intolerably pleasurable inch.  
When Haku had told Zabuza what he could do with that voice of his, Zabuza had laughed.

The sound had done unimaginable things to Haku's libido.

And a few months after that, Zabuza had taken a mercenary job that Haku didn't agree with. But Haku understood why Zabuza needed to do what he was doing and so he stood with him, supporting him. While he didn't agree with the methods, he lived for Zabuza, for the man who had raised him, taught him, loved him. Zabuza would never leave him, not even for a second, and while the elder man knew Haku could and would take care of himself, something about Gato made Zabuza even more nervous than usual. And then the stupid bridge. Haku knew that Zabuza would never have taken the job to stop construction of a stupid bridge, but the money had been good, and so Haku had never said anything that Zabuza hadn't known already.

And then the brats and their jounin sensei had shown up and ruined everything. If they hadn't of been spotted by Gato's spies, he and Zabuza would have gone on just gently sabotaging equipment to delay production of parts and construction of the bridge by a day or two, assassinating a few people here and there that got to sniffing around what they shouldn't, and generally left the populace of that stupid little island alone. Gato still wouldn't have known what they were really doing and they would have still been being paid the large amounts of money Gato had offered them in the first place. But no, Kakashi and his brat genin had decided to make their appearance known and had caused quite a stir. So, now, there was no choice in their actions. They had to do what they were being paid to do.

And then they had died.

Haku glanced around the town that used to be nothing more than a shanty. So many lives had been fulfilled since his death, the quiet little oppressed village had grown up into a bustling town, and many were crossing over the bridge which had been completed since his death. Gozu had told him that. He paused for a moment to bask in the sounds of life, hiding in the shadows as he watched people go by. It would be easy to pick a few pockets of unsuspecting passersby, but he was taught much better than that. Still, money would be needed if he wanted to survive long enough to get to where he wanted to go. And these people looked well off enough to do with the loss of a few yen here and there. As he walked through the crowds then, he pulled several wallets from pockets and purses, took a few bills and coins and put the wallets back, all in a split second. Only a ninja would be able to see those movements, but as he wasn't caught and given a lecture, there were no ninja nearby. He heard voices telling the story of Naruto and his friends to the children and was half-tempted to add in his side of the story. It wouldn't be appreciated and, after all, Haku was supposed to be dead. So he listened and he grinned and he moved on because he was needed by the man whom he loved.

Haku paused at the foot of the bridge and looked up at the great sign that spanned it, eyes going wide before he began to laugh. He doubled over, arms around his stomach, laughing as hard as he could and drawing stares. When he sobered he moved on across the bridge, still grinning widely.

"The Great Naruto Bridge, huh?" Haku said to himself, still snickering. "Fucking orange."


	5. Sometimes I Give Myself the Creeps

-This will not be pleasant, I guarantee it. In fact, Ink and Kiri both hate themselves for this chapter, and will most likely go off to commit seppuku.

Guh.

Dem Bones

It was choking him, pushing down on his tongue and forcing his gag reflex to kick in. The horrible spoon was cupping the back of his tongue and no matter how many times he swallowed or tried to spit he couldn't. The master watched him with amusement and anger. The master had tried to kiss him and he'd bitten the bastard's tongue. Master or not, no man took advantage of Momochi Zabuza. So the master had called upon the blinding pain that was always lurking in his brain and brought him to his knees, had called upon his henchmen to take hold of his arms and his hair, to jerk his head back as the master revealed a horrible looking contraption. A bridle, it was called, and Zabuza was told to be thankful it wasn't the one with needles on the bit. The spoon was just as bad, the head of the thing covering nearly the whole of his tongue and choked him. He couldn't speak, couldn't even make a sound without pain flaring in his throat and palate and teeth. The leather straps around his head were cinched so tight that it was giving him a headache. He wanted it off, but the men who followed the master were holding his hands tight behind his back. He glared hatred at the master and felt the pain in his head escalated and he screamed even with the spoon choking him.

Then the beating began, the punishment that added pain on top of pain and he kept screaming until his throat was raw and he couldn't scream anymore. The master waved his hand and Zabuza was left alone, though the pain kept him from moving even an inch across the floor to the sword that waited for him, that sang for him to drench it in the blood of those who were hurting him.

"Oh, Zabuza," the master whispered, crouching before him and stroking the skull of Haku like he would – and tried – to caress Zabuza, which was how this had started in the first place. Zabuza growled, then whimpered as the pain became unbearable again.

"Now, now, Zabuza. That's no way to treat your master." The skull was set down in front of him, his hand taken and set on top of the skull. The bridle was removed and he spit blood out onto the master's robes. Pain again lanced up his spine into his brain and his fingers spasmed around the skull. But he couldn't crush it, wouldn't, because this skull was important to him. The pain lessened then and Zabuza smiled at the comforting feeling. The master's face twisted into a cruel snarl and he kicked Zabuza in the stomach, forcing the man to curl up in a fetal position and whimper. He picked up the skull – the real reason why Zabuza whimpered – and held it out to him like one would a dog treat to an unruly puppy.

"You want this, you bastard? You forget constantly that I own you! I hold these bones, you're bound to the bones, and so you are bound to me!"

Zabuza glared up at the master as he was kicked over and over again, teeth bared in a snarl. Pain, horrible pain, took hold in his spine and in his brain and he writhed, screaming because this time the pain didn't stop. It didn't stop until he'd stopped screaming, until his brain had locked his consciousness away in a dark little corner and left the body to its fate. He couldn't return to the body, he didn't want the pain that tortured him constantly. But he heard those words, the words that chased him that he ignored with all his heart. He ignored them because those words were spoken in that horrible, gravelly voice that he knew didn't belong to the one he wanted. But these words, the ones he heard now, these words were spoken in Haku's voice, Haku's beautiful, deceiving voice.

"Bound," Zabuza mumbled, eyes slowly closing.

"Get up."

The body rose, Zabuza staring at the master out of dead and dull hazel eyes. He saw the master, saw Haku in his arms and instinctively stilled because if Haku was in the master's arms then Haku knew what the master was doing. And for Haku, Zabuza would do anything. The master shifted, Haku disappeared, but the trap had already been set and Zabuza had already taken the bait. The master was surprised at the dead-eyed stare, but at this moment he didn't care. Zabuza was finally under his control. To be sure, though, the master reached up to tangle his hand in Zabuza's hair and pulled his head down, pressing their mouths together. No retaliation so he took it a step further, raping Zabuza's mouth with his tongue. Zabuza wasn't kissing back but that didn't matter because Zabuza wasn't reacting at all. Favourably, unfavourably, it didn't matter because Zabuza wasn't reacting at all.

"Follow me." The master ordered, and stepped a few paces away, picking up the bridle before he turned to find Zabuza right behind him. The dead hazel eyes never moved from his face, that look alone unnerving him. He slapped Zabuza hard across the face and spat out the order to never meet his master in the eyes. Obediently, the dead hazel gaze fell to the floor, staring at his feet.

"To your knees."

Zabuza obeyed, dropping to his knees and looking up when the master's hand cupped his chin and forced him to look up. The master's face was twisted in hatred and lust but Zabuza didn't see that. He didn't see anything but the specter of Haku resting across the master's shoulders. But that specter vanished, leaving no doubt at whom it was who was kissing him. But Zabuza obeyed, because he couldn't do anything else. He fought, oh how he fought, but the chains of the words wrapped around him and held him and caressed him with sweetened touches full of poison.

The Zabuza that was known as the Demon of the Hidden Mist was chained that day, in the deep, dark recesses of a mind abused and tortured by loss and pain and self-hatred. The Demon couldn't fight, didn't want to fight now, because Haku was gone. The bones were out of his reach and Haku was gone. Oh, the body the Demon inhabited didn't give up, but the Demon was gone and the only one who was left in the body was Momochi Zabuza, the lost, tortured man who had felt his heart die once too many. The body fought against the touches, Zabuza himself fought against the touches that he hated, he wouldn't ever give up.

But he had to obey, because the spell didn't give him a choice. Dull hazel stared up at the man who was his master, at the man he had to obey, because the spell of the bones made it so. The Demon could only watch and seethe and hate while Zabuza was forced to obey. Right now, only his mouth was violated, but Zabuza didn't feel a thing.

"Who do you belong to? Say you belong to Shunsuke Aoiyama."

Zabuza stared. Shunsuke snarled and slapped him. Zabuza accepted the blow and stared at the floor. Shunsuke kicked him again, beat him, until Zabuza whimpered out his name. More pain and Zabuza screamed out the name of the master, of who he belonged to, all the while the Demon within, the true Zabuza, writhed and screamed denials. His jaw was forced open, the spoon slid over his tongue and the leather straps cinched into place. Zabuza got to his feet and followed Shunsuke out of the room, followed by one of the henchman who carried the sword that sang to Zabuza. Zabuza watched, listened, numbed by pain that had become a gentle caress since his mind had shattered into several different fragmented personalities. The Demon was chained in the darkness, the frightened boy standing aside to the shadows, the broken man standing in the light, and the conglomerate of all three was what inhabited the body.

Shunsuke learned that very fast.

And he grinned as he held aloft the skull and stared at it greedily.

The conglomerate Zabuza had all the skills and abilities of the Demon, the timidness of the broken man, and the need to please that came from the frightened boy. He was so much more and so much less but Shunsuke didn't care. He had a weapon, an unthinking, unfeeling bodyguard that did as he was told and didn't complain. Well, he couldn't complain, not with the spoon of the bridle gagging him. He didn't make any noise either, as noises were punished and punishment was only for those who didn't obey. The bones though, their spell made sure that Zabuza would obey unfailingly.

Shunsuke looked over then at his puppet, his servant, and grinned at the sight of Zabuza covered in blood and gore, the blade of his sword shining with the crimson and viscera of the men who had been so loyal to Shunsuke through this little trip to retrieve the bones of the last known carrier of the Kekkei Genkai from the Land of Water. They were just hired hands, anyway, and the more money Shunsuke saved in paying these vultures, the better off he was. After all, hired help could be bought again and given a taste of money and with Zabuza there to collect at the end of a job, well.

"Come now, Zabuza." Shunsuke said, caressing Zabuza's arm, before he dropped his touch to Zabuza's bared leg, fingers trailing up cool flesh to tease the revealed hipbone. "Let's go home now."

Zabuza's dead hazel gaze turned to his master, but there was no indication that he understood anything Shunsuke had said. He lifted the large broadsword and flicked it with just a twitch of his wrist, the blood and gore slinging off to stain the chopped bodies of his master's enemies even more. The gleaming blade was then set into its sheath on his back and Zabuza followed his master from the hotel out into the night.

But then, something tugged at him like an annoying gnat, and only once did he look up from his feet to stare behind him, trying to located that insistent tug. It was like a siren's call, and he felt the need to turn around and run, though his feet remained firmly in place.

His name was barked, so he hurried to catch up.

Had he hesitated a moment longer, he just might have been free.

-----------

I told you so. If anyone would like to join the "I Wanna Tear Shunsuke Apart" Club, please hand in all applications to Haku. Don't worry about finding him, he'll find you.


	6. Kiss My Eyes and Lay Me to Sleep

-1Dem Bones

How long he had traveled, he didn't know, but he knew just how pissed off he was going to be when he got there. Haku was no stranger to hard travel; he'd experienced it enough when wandering lost with Zabuza. His legs seemed to have forgotten the torture and were currently aching with every step he took. Zabuza was going to owe him a massage. A foot rub. No, full body. THAT would teach him to go to ground in a location that was so fucking hard to get to. Not that Hell was hard to get to, that is, if you were dead. Since Haku was no longer that nor exactly human, he needed another way in. Which brought him to where he was now, sitting on the edge of a river bank with his feet in the water as he massaged his legs. The fishy dinner he'd caught had been exceptionally tasty, too. Haku sighed and massaged his calves, purring as aching muscles gave way to bliss. Still, he couldn't enjoy the water for long because he was needed somewhere. The insistent tugging on his heart only became worse the longer he dawdled – or whenever he went in the wrong direction. That in itself wasn't so bad, since it acted as a personal GPS that he didn't have to worry about programming or breaking. Unless he broke, but then, there were ways to safe-guard against that.

Like killing your opponent first.

Haku shifted his legs out of the water and let them air-dry for a while before he rolled down his pants legs and pulled on his boots – a gift from Gozu before he'd really gotten going. He pushed himself to his feet with a series of grunts and groans, indulging in the noises because he knew this was the only time he'd get away with it.

He sighed, looking down on the gurgling waters and smiling a bit. When this was over, he decided to add swimming to the list of things to do. After the massage, of course.

Haku hummed to himself as he walked, just to keep him from going completely crazy. It was difficult to travel alone, really, because it was the silence that got you. When you traveled in a group, the silence didn't matter, because there were sounds of life – and therefore comfort – all around you. Traveling alone denied you that comfort and so you had to entertain yourself to keep from going mad. Haku seemed to do that quite well, whether it was humming, playing with his claw, practicing his aim, or doing a little chakra exercise to prove he could still perform his Kekkei Genkai. Which he could, but it was painful. Which gave him something more to do; work to get over the pain. Starting there would be enough to distract him until he got to where he was going.

The physical pain, though, wasn't as bad as he had thought it would be. The pain came more from protesting chakra pathways that had yet to be utilized in his new body. They were there, no mistake, but they were weak, like a body-builder's muscles after a three year hiatus on the weights. That was obstacle number one. Obstacle number two was control and he had perfect control of everything; chakra, emotions, whatever, Haku had control over it. Until he saw Kubikiri Houcho being wielded over the prone form of a dark-red haired young man.

Then he saw red.

Instinct told him to attack; common sense told him to stalk, to learn about the bastard who held onto Zabuza's zanbatou like he OWNED it. Haku was seething by the time the blonde and redhead returned to another pair, the male looking decidedly uncomfortable standing next to the female, pointedly moving to stand between the blonde and redhead as the group got ready to move on. When the group finally stopped for the night, Haku had dropped out of hot anger and had gone into detached cold anger that boded nothing good for those with a pulse. While he was waiting for an opportunity to go in and kill the bastard with Zabuza's zanbatou an argument broke out between the blonde and the redhead, soothed only when the black haired boy cracked open one eye and glared.  
Haku whistled lowly. There were only a few people with blood red eyes that he knew of, and most of them were dead, except for two.

Though he didn't personally know Itachi, Sasuke was a whole 'nother ballpark. He knew Sasuke, but he didn't know what Sasuke could do now. And that had him stepping back from the killing edge a bit to observe. Sasuke certainly was the leader of the little group, commanding the others with a gesture or a look. The only female made Haku's lips curl into a snarl because she was a threat. Oh, not to Haku – any woman rarely was – but to what Haku knew of Sasuke. After all, sacrificing yourself for someone you didn't love with your very being was really kind of stupid. Of course, Haku mused, Naruto was the exception to every rule. Still she was the one he'd take out first, if only to spare Sasuke the pain of killing the bitch himself. Haku's attention turned to the redhead, then, who had curled up against the blonde's side like a very content kitten. He was dangerous, Haku noted, but he had a childlike innocence that made Haku watch a little closer. Oh, how he loved that blonde. A shift here, a touch there, and Haku discerned easily enough the affection the blonde had for the redhead. And if they all deferred to Sasuke, then they were equal to Sasuke's strength or just a tiny bit weaker. Nothing Haku couldn't handle.

Now, to slip down and slit a few throats without being seen. Easier said than done, really, because avoiding the gaze of the Sharingan was like trying to avoid being murdered by billions of angry African killer bees.

So, Haku mused, that was probably why he didn't move until Sasuke had stopped staring in his general direction. If Sasuke knew he was here, he either didn't give a damn or was going to find Haku's attempt at assassination amusing. Generally, Haku hoped it was the former. He shifted off the tree branch, henged to seem as though he was just a falling leaf, and crept closer to the camp. It was only when he peeked through the bushes that he noticed the redhead was missing. He dodged the swipe and rolled into the encampment, smiling grimly at the surprised curses coming from somewhere around him. He didn't have time to think, avoiding strikes that would have torn a slower man in twain. The redhead was grinning madly, pale skin sickeningly tattooed by ever growing marks. The more the marks grew, the surer Haku felt he was going to die.

"Juugo!"

The redhead froze at the command, hardly breathing. Haku blinked, slowly turning his head to stare right into Sharingan red. So many things could go wrong in that split second but Sasuke merely stared, almost open-mouthed in confusion. Probably wondered if he was crazy, Haku thought. Sasuke slowly approached, probably intending to see if Haku was real or not. Only the feel of Kubikiri Houcho digging into his back kept him from budging. Sasuke raised his hand and gestured; the pressure on Haku's back lessened and vanished, the blonde appearing beside Sasuke with narrowed eyes. Haku let a grin grow as Sasuke came closer.

"Haku?"

"Sasuke."

Sasuke sighed. "You died."

"I did. But now I'm back and I want to know why that bastard has Kubikiri Houcho." Haku pointed at the blonde who bared his teeth in return.

"I let him take it," Sasuke replied.

"It's not as though Zabuza needs it anymore," the female groused.

Haku's lips curled into a snarl. "That's not the point, bitch."

"Then what is?" she snarled in reply.

"Kubikiri Houcho belongs to Zabuza, dead or a live." Haku growled. "That freak has no right to it!"

"Freak?" the blonde growled in return. "What are you talking about? You're supposed to be dead!"

"Suigetsu, please." Sasuke whispered. He turned to Haku, a somber look in his red eyes. He sighed and Haku knew he was trying to find the right words. It had to be hard for Sasuke, having to try and explain to someone who could kill him why some stranger held something that belonged to his precious person.

"Sasuke, why?" Haku whispered.

"Because Suigetsu-kun needs it." The redhead whispered before Sasuke could speak. Juugo shifted almost uncomfortably under Haku's piercing gaze.

"He needs it." Haku repeated.

"We're hunting Sasuke-san's brother," Juugo continued. "Kubikiri Houcho can help Suigetsu-kun against Samehada."

Haku's eyes narrowed a bit at Suigetsu. Finally he pointed a finger at the blonde.

"You treat that sword with respect, you understand? If I find out you're not, I will kill you and it won't be fast."

Suigetsu snorted. "Yeah, whatever."

Haku grinned, a dangerous grin that had Juugo jumping back a few paces. Even Sasuke flinched, which made Suigetsu swallow near audibly. Haku moved closer to Suigetsu then, raising his hand to grab onto the blonde strands and pull the younger man's head down, twisting his wrist so that Suigetsu had no choice but to look into his eyes. Haku stared at him, dark eyes boring right into Suigetsu's soul, leaving him no doubt that Haku would and could tear him apart. Suigetsu swallowed again and fought back the whimper that wanted to come out, breathing an audible sigh of relief when Haku released him. He slowly nodded and Haku shifted to join Sasuke apart from the group, leaving Suigetsu clutching onto Juugo. Between Haku and Juugo, Suigetsu decided he'd much rather deal with the redhead.

He, at least, was predictable.


End file.
